


(i want to kill you) like they do in the movies

by bugbiter



Category: Twelve Forever (Cartoon)
Genre: (sad slide whistle), Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Repressed Memories, implied assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 09:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugbiter/pseuds/bugbiter
Summary: "you're lucky you don't have to wake up / i'm sick of immortality"Buttwitch has breakfast and comes to an unsatisfying conclusion.





	(i want to kill you) like they do in the movies

**Author's Note:**

> title and summary reference marilyn manson's "i want to kill you like they do in the movies" 
> 
> i usually never write lmfao but if you want to see my art it is below:
> 
> http://toydrill.tumblr.com/

The worst thing about this new Endless, its childishness and blissful ignorance and nonsense aside, was the way it made her feel.

Every time she rises from her bed, luxurious shag blanket and eye mask pulled up over her immaculate bangs, she is met with the doting, bashful eyes of Big Deal. Today, he is holding a humble stack of pancakes, looking particularly tolerable. She hums in interest, but not too much so.

“Good morning, ma’am!” Her lackey’s voice, sharp like a knife and pitchy like screeching tires, cuts through the thick grogginess that coated her brain. “I, um… I tried using a recipe I found today, so I hope you like it!” He offers her the tray, fork placed slightly askew. The Madam hesitates (she always does— he’s had days where the food has been near toxic), but lets it rest upon her lap. The smell is not only enjoyable, but familiar, like deja vu. It takes her somewhere she’s sure she has been, but she can’t quite recall. As he turns to start his daily rounds of sweeping and dusting, she uses her fork to tear a small piece of pancake, dipping it in the syrup generously glazed on top and tentatively puts it in her mouth.

_“I swear, Regina, if you don’t stop preening in the mirror, we’re going to miss the movie!” A boy with dark hair, gently tousled, stands just outside her bedroom window, using his elbows to prop himself up on the sill. He yells in a whisper, making her turn from her vanity._

_She grins, teeth looking whiter because of the dark lipstick surrounding it. Flattening out the skirt of her new dress, she gives her hair and makeup a last look over before tip-toeing to the window herself, gesturing him to move out of the way. _

_“I’m excited,” she admits bashfully. “You even make going out to the movies such an adventure.” She says his name, but it comes out as if someone has dunked her underwater: muffled and unclear. _

_“Got more adventure where that came from, Reg.” He flips open a worn out wallet as she steps out onto her driveway, pulling out two coupons. “Nabbed these from my pops this morning. You want pancakes?” _

_Regina laughs and quietly closes her window behind her, making sure to leave it open just enough that she could return. “Pancakes at _one in the morning?_” She pauses as if to think, tapping her manicured finger to her chin. “Well, if we’re breaking rules already, hell with it!” _

_“You’re sixteen, girl! Live a little, c’mon. You’re practically a grown up.” And he was right: her parents had been so cross with her when she had made friends with him, but who were they to tell her no? They had been much further apart in age when they’d met than she and her friend— and besides, that was all they were— friends and no more. He offers her a hand, dramatically bowing in front of her as if she were a princess. _

_“Shall we, ma’am?”_

_Her laugh fills the air again and again as they walk that night, with not much to guide them but the streetlights and their warped reflection on the wet street. Even Endless, her secret happy place, couldn’t compare to this…_

“Ma’am?” She awakes from her daze, confused and still chewing on the pancake, which had become bland mush in her mouth at this point. Big Deal looks up at her, hands nervously fiddling with his tie. She stares at him to acknowledge him, and quirks a brow; a silent command to speak.

“I was just wondering if, uh… you liked them. T-the pancakes.” 

Madam eats another forkful, making sure to focus this time, and swallows quickly and efficiently. “Don’t get ahead of yourself with this, Big Deal, but…” She clears her throat. “Color me impressed. I would say you were a little heavy handed on syrup for my tastes, but I would say I enjoy these. At least, for your standard.” She adds the part at the end quickly as a way of saying ‘don’t get too cocky’, but his eyes and smile light up all the same as he turns quickly on his heel to head onto the surface and finish the last of the maintenance. When he isn’t in sight, she eats a little less refined than she’d like, digging in as if to find another memory hiding inside. They each hit her like a wave of dizziness, thrusting her into a familiar-not-familiar scene from the same night, never quite in the proper order. She’s able to gather some snippets, but nothing substantial. 

It evades her like a pest, like Twelve, and she cannot stand it.

By the time she finishes the plate, the pit of her stomach aches. It’s not in the same way it usually does when she eats something bad (which tended to be often, Big Deal’s cooking was more miss than hit), but a sorrowful ache, as if she has been informed of terrible news. Her skin begins to feel like it’s crawling, buzzing under the surface, growing to a near audible rumble; and then, sudden and disorienting, the dark haired boy in the memories feels all too close. It’s as if she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, hushed whispers of _‘Reggie, c’mon’ _hot against her hair._ ‘This movie can’t be doin’ it for you, right? Look at me, baby.’ _Her sheets do not feel like sheets, her room does not feel like her own. Where she is she cannot begin to describe: a horrible, twisting, buzzing place, like TV static when the antenna is moved just too far left. It is painful. It is uncomfortable.

It is terrifying. 

“I—“ Regina begins to say, but her voice is high, too high to be the towering Madam. It cracks before she can even begin the next word, and her thoughts jumble together like a knotted shoelace in its wake. _‘Get away from me, insolent boy!’_ she wants to scream, grow her claws and spines and flick her tail to show she means business. _‘I have no want for some juvenile delinquent! Unless you want to be eradicated, get away from me!’_ She’d slash at him until his body was not but ribbons on the pavement, and return to her comfortable boudoir, where Big Deal has prepared her another meal. He wouldn’t make her feel like this. He’d done nothing but uplift her and be her confidant when she was alone. A better friend than this… this _disgusting_ thing. 

“Ma’am!” The shrill yell of Big Deal almost brings her to tears, but she cannot discern what for. He pushes the tray away, looking at his hands nervously before tentatively placing them on her cheeks. “Ma’am, are you okay?!”

She takes a large inhale, a drowning man on shore, and blinks the residual static away. His eyes are watery with the beginnings of tears, and it takes her a minute in the discomfort to realize that she _had_ been crying before. Looking around in her ebbing confusion, her eyes land back on him. He removes his hands quickly, muttering an apology as if by nature.

“I came downstairs after making sure everything outside was okay, and you were crying— I didn’t know what to do.” He looks down at the sheets, guilty. “Sometimes, when I get overwhelmed, I cry like that too… but you’re always so composed, and smart, and strong. Whatever made you feel like that, I can’t imagine.” 

His words give her a different kind of ache: one that bobs in her chest like a buoy in rough water. She inhales deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. “Thank you, Big Deal. If…” A hesitant pause. “If you could be so kind as to not bring this up again. I think I need some time to myself on it.” He nods sharply, scooting off of her bed with the cleared tray in hand. She sees him look back once, as if to double-check her safety. It’s a little patronizing, but the thought is comforting.

When the lull of sleep envelops her again, she dreams only in memories that will evade her again once she wakes. Though frustrating, it is something she begins to find peace with. If she knew one thing for sure, it was that this place and its mysteries were truly endless, and there were many things she could not begin to understand, even about herself.

She secretly hopes that her little home with Big Deal was something she can trust not to change.


End file.
